A Hero's Choice
by spilling off the canvas
Summary: Luke was a traitor from the beginning, but he died a hero in the end. Scene from TLO when Luke / Kronos is killed.


I was fading. My consciousness flickered like a dying light with barely any life left. The weight of the titan felt like an anvil crushing me, but I resisted. I knew.

I pushed harder. I heard her voice, like the golden memories that I loved. Kronos felt me breaking his spell; he tried to stop me, and, gods, I wanted to let him . . .

And then I was me again, like taking a breath after being under water, I almost choked on the sensation. I saw everything: Annabeth, bloody and crying, her arm bent in an unnatural direction. Her yellow curls were dark with dust and dirt, but her silvery eyes were alive.

I spoke. "Annabeth . . ." My voice trembled, but it was _my _voice. "You're bleeding . . . "

Her hand suddenly let go of the dagger she held. She looked to someone, but I didn't turn to see who it was. I took a step towards her, but the person came and stood like a wall between us.

Percy Jackson. His green eyes shone with a bitter disdain, and his body worn and grimy. I wanted to explain that I was me again.

But then I wasn't. Kronos filled my body with hate for the boy in front of me. I wanted to kill him, but I didn't. My mind was racked with confusion and anger and pain. Most of all pain. A burning ball formed inside me; my organs were being grilled with heat stronger than Apollo's car. The titan's power was too much for me; I was going to burst from this anguish.

I had to stop him from advancing into his full power. I pulled all of what was left of my mind together and thrust it against the wall that prevented me from speaking. It didn't break. I hit it again, running at top speed. The wall shattered like glass and I could breathe. I found my voice.

I raised my eyes to Percy. "He's changing. Help. He's . . . he's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please-" Every word felt like holding up the sky again.

Kronos stole my mind. I looked around, searching for his sword unwillingly. And then we spotted it, lying in the hearth's sputtering flame. We reached for it.

I dropped it. The war within me was too much; it hurt too much. My hands were burned, blackened by the fiery hearth. The fire in my head was worse.

I fell to the ground. I couldn't feel my hands. "Percy, Percy . . ." He rose tiredly toward me, holding Annabeth's knife in a death strike. He was going to kill me, but he couldn't. My invincibility wouldn't let him do it.

"You can't . . . can't do it yourself. He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can . . . can keep him controlled."

My skin itched and tinged from the heat of the titan's metamorphosis. Percy tensed to strike. I thought he was about to when he looked over at Annabeth. Grover was shielding her crumpled figure where she had fallen near her mother's throne. Her face was gray and pained. My strength dissolved looking at her so broken, so different from her usual self. I almost lost control, and I staggered to keep Kronos at bay. I glanced back at Percy, and he seemed as anguished as me. The light in his eyes changed, though. A realization stalled his actions.

I couldn't hold Kronos much longer. "No time," I said in an agonized whisper.

Kronos nearly slithered back into command as Percy stood among the ruins of Olympus, trying to decide what to do. He wouldn't believe me; he shouldn't believe me. After what I'd done . . . I could never trust myself.

Then Percy did the insane thing: he gave me Annabeth's knife. I gripped the knife slowly, nostalgia rushing in as I remembered its feel. I knew where my Achilles' heel was. I could stop Kronos.

And myself. I uncovered the section under my left arm, and raised my hilt to point.

I felt like I was playing tug of war. I'd advance to stab my arm, and Kronos would yank it suddenly away, I'd try again. Heat licked in my veins and hummed in place of my blood. I tried once more, pulling against everything I'd ever felt. The cold blade touched my skin.

The cut was like a nuclear bomb. Ripples of energy quaked from it; Olympus rumbled and groaned. I heard a cry so sad it was the poster child for pain. I realized it was me. The heat overcame my body. My mind turned to ashes.

And then it was silent.

I felt my body lying against the coals of the hearth. They felt warm compared to the thrum of Kronos. My chest hummed, faster and hotter, and for a moment I thought Kronos was still here, but then I realized I needed oxygen. I gulped the air.

Percy and Annabeth wobbled over to my side, tears in their eyes. They both knew I was dying.

Dying. I was dying. I wasn't scared to anymore.

I told Annabeth I was going to try for the Isles of the Blest.

She sniveled her tears. "You always pushed yourself too hard."

No, I wanted to say, but I didn't really know why. A sinner didn't look at heaven and think they deserved it. I didn't deserve it.

My mind drifted into other things. I had to ask.

"Did you . . . love me?" I looked at her, knowing what the answer would be. I had seen the way Percy watched her, and the way she was aware of him. I was sad, but knowing it was Percy she loved made me happier. He would be good to her like I wasn't.

I was fading. I wasn't aware of Annabeth, or Percy, or Grover anymore. But I forced myself to see them, to use my voice. I had to make sure this wouldn't be like all the other stories of heroes: constantly repeating.

I looked at Percy. "Don't let it . . . Don't let it happen again." Anger filled the little left of me. For Kronos, and ultimately myself. I didn't hear his reply.

I didn't feel the weight anymore. I found peace.


End file.
